


Take My Eyes To Borrow

by chewsdaychillin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (not dysphoria, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Edging, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Insecurity, Jon is mentioned, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin, Vibrators, Weight Issues, afterglow deep meaningful convos, body issues, but like .. best friends.., its more likely than u think, jtmcu - Freeform, little a jealousy?, more in notes), of some sort, post Epiphany, post mag22 colony, tim is obsessed with this man, tims trauma? in my porn ?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26703892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewsdaychillin/pseuds/chewsdaychillin
Summary: ‘What if,’ Tim says, ‘you tell me all the things you hate and I promise not to say anything. But-’ he holds up Martin's finger like a teacher giving out warnings and kisses it. ‘In return, I get to kiss all of them and you get to say nothing about it.’Martin makes a face at him before he can stop himself.‘What? What’s wrong with that?’‘It’s just... cheesy.’
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 119





	Take My Eyes To Borrow

**Author's Note:**

> -slaps roof of martin- this boy can fit so much kinning and projection in him... 
> 
> yes there is a lot of insecurity in this bc i have some and its cathartic to write about. also i find it kind of annoying or rather.. unrealistic? at least for me when people portray insecurity around being or having fat as like... a one note Sad or pitiful thing that one person can somehow Cure. not saying anyone else is doing it Wrong i jus have tried to be as nuanced with this as it is in my Personal Experience. 
> 
> specifics discussed are weight, bloating and stretch marks. (all of these things are sexy as hell tho). there is not insecurity around gender or dysphoria present, but there is discussion of shirt on or off. also there is typical comparing yourself to people skinnier/fitter insecurity and tim is cis. but again, only in terms of weight etc 
> 
> words used: chest, cock, prick, hard and wet and variations thereof
> 
> thanks so much to all the people who helped w this and my amazing chat of betas whom i adore xoxo 
> 
> and now.. our feature presentation...

‘Okay,’ Tim says, ‘so how’s this-’

(They’ve been at it for a while, past dinner, through kissing, back and forth over something ultimately stupid and inconsequential. ‘On or off?’ had been the question that had started it, about Martin's T-shirt, as bloated kissing turned to petting turned to cosy groping. 

It’s Martin's fault really, because his flat still doesn’t feel so good and he needs to be right out in Bromley before he stops thinking about work and worms and, if he's being honest with himself, Jon, and can actually enjoy an evening. Tim is very good at making evenings enjoyable. Even more so now there’s an element of security to what they’ve got going - his flat is comfortable and safe and they’re at the point now where even the fuchsia paint on his front door is a bit of a turn on. The problem is that he's an excellent chef and insists on plying Martin with far too much spaghetti. He can’t even think about going to town hungry, he says, winking. He doesn’t bloat like Martin does.

So then there had been um-ing and ah-ing and Tim had noticed his face and decided not only would they talk about it but he would fix it. So now he is lying on his side, propped up on his elbow hatching a plan to fix society and cure twenty-eight years of iffy self-esteem.) 

‘What if,’ he says, ‘you tell me all the things you hate and I promise not to say anything. But-’ he holds up Martin's finger like a teacher giving out warnings and kisses it. ‘In return, I get to kiss all of them and you get to say nothing about it.’

Martin makes a face at him before he can stop himself. 

‘What? What’s wrong with that?’

‘It’s just... cheesy.’

‘Cheesy!?’ Tim clutches his chest in outrage. Then he sags a bit on his hand. ‘Are you serious?’ 

Martin rolls onto his back. He can’t look at the bloody sad puppy eyes and not feel ridiculous. ‘It’s embarrassing!’ he groans. Ugh, so _embarrassing_ it makes him physically cringe so hard it’s like a shudder. To be the centre of attention that’s so sickly it feels patronising. 

Tim says nothing, but his finger traces sympathetic circles on Martin’s arm. Again maybe it feels patronising but Martin just sighs and turns back to him. He knows it’s sweet really. Fair enough Tim doesn’t really know what to say to him when he’s being like this; he’s not even sure what he really wants to hear. 

‘I don’t like... talking about it in bed,’ he says slowly, ‘because I’m supposed to forget all that, aren’t I?’

Tim frowns a bit. ‘But you’re not so..? Let me help?’

‘If I tell you then it’s just a pity thing anyway.’

‘No it isn’t!’ 

‘Ugh, you’re looking at me like I’m insane. Look,’ Martin tells the ceiling, hands spread out in frustration, ‘this is why I said I’d rather not right after eating.’

Tim tuts before he can help himself. ‘You’re not insane,’ he placates, ‘just... are you actually saying no, or do you want to but...’ 

There’s a rustle as he tilts his head a bit then, and Martin casts him a side eye to see the puppy sympathy eyes are back. Obviously he mostly wants to help, and maybe a part of him just wants sex. Which is reasonable considering the pattern they’ve fallen into in this bed. But there’s also the part of him that’s either intuitive as all hell or a mind reader or just a good best friend. The part that’s filling in the blanks and knows all the excuses in the book. 

_I want to but I’m tired. I want to but I’m just so full. Food coma. Headache. Work to do tomorrow._

Tim would know as soon as they were out of Martin's mouth, probably knows already, that those are lies. Or at least that they’re simplistic, cheery covers - convenient paste-over problems to ditch into instead of going the hard route of putting in work to get to what he actually wants to do. Would want to do if, you know. It wasn’t so high effort in the brain whack-a-mole department. 

The fact Tim knows this does make something feel okay about that effort though. Safe. And the angle he’s lying at does something nice to his neck and his hair is all stuck up where he’s run his hand through it. 

A few slow blinks and Martin’s mouth curves shyly into a truthful smile. ‘Yeah,’ he admits, ‘I want to.’ 

Tim smiles and shimmies in closer, slots a leg in, throws an arm over Martin's chest and turns his cheek to kiss him. He kisses slowly, deeply but not like he’s trying to get anything going. 

Slow enough that eventually Martin gives in to the fact he’s being goaded into leading. Gives in to any thoughts that aren't getting closer. He tugs Tim's shoulder over, slides his hand down the strength in his back to grab his arse and get his leg over proper. 

Tim hums appreciatively, slotting his knee in and kissing back with a bit more intent. His tongue searches now, probing for the feeling that’ll make them both sigh. Martin strokes it back, tasting him and coaxing him to move that hand on his cheek somewhere else. 

Eventually it trails lightly down his side and starts playing with the hem of the issue-causing T-shirt. Tim doesn’t ask _on or off_ this time, just slowly pushes it up a bit to let his hand underneath. The bit of skin that’s exposed rubs against Tim's own shirt in the movement of the kiss. It’s not at all warm enough so Martin pulls back a bit and tugs at it till Tim lets his shirt over his head. 

It doesn’t seem quite fair, but Tim doesn’t take any time to dwell on it. He comes back for one more deep kiss, and breaks it slowly so the sound snaps in the air before kissing down Martin’s neck. Then past his collar and down his covered sternum, and when he looks up through his lashes his eyes are blown wide enough that Martin sighs into a smile. He strokes Tim’s hair back, cups his cheek as he kisses down, pushes brushed cotton up higher.

Then his mouth crosses the line from fabric to skin. The kisses peppered down Martin's stomach send a shivering _thrill_ through him. The feeling of _that's good, actually_ with the added novelty - no, more than novelty - rarity, absurdity of someone wanting to. Someone wants to. And then the cringing waves, of course, at the fact he’s even thinking that. _Don’t think that. Just be here._

As Tim reaches his belly button he lets himself peer down. The sight of Tim's fingers denting a bit, sinking into him where they’re groping is... it’s something. He’s not sure how he feels about it really, what with the hint of disdain he’s always felt looking down at this angle. The thrill maybe comes a bit from knowing something’s bad, shameful. The irritation that always follows the fact he thinks all that. But it’s something. The way Tim's pressing fingers leave little white marks where they dig in. It does something to him that’s much easier to define when he shifts in his boxers.

Tim’s lips ghost above the top of Martin’s waistband but he doesn’t move to ditch the inconvenient fabric. Instead he nudges Martin’s knees further apart so the growing wet patch on the crotch seam is pressed under his throat. 

Watching Tim fold down just an inch of fabric to suck on the soft over his hip bone is what makes Martin aware exactly how much he's starting to ache. The blood all rushing to his cock is making him lightheaded and okay... this might actually be a good idea. 

Tim tongues over the bruise he’s making like he’s pleased with himself and Martin tuts even as his breath hitches. 

‘Tease,’ he scolds, shifting a bit on the mattress. 

Tim grins up at him, resting his chin on Martin's thigh. ‘Well, you’re the one who said no sex after dinner soooo...’

‘Bastard.’

Tim just hums. He dips his head and pushes the leg of Martin's boxers up to his crotch so he can kiss... kiss the stretch-marks that cover his inner thigh. 

Tiger stripes, he’s heard them called. Lightning bolts. Racing stripes. They aren’t stripes though, are they? They’re either jagged zig zags or blotchy blooms like a tree of angry purple veins. (His mother always said he’ll get varicose veins like she did when he’s older, and then his calves will be ruined too). These aren’t the stretch-marks Instagram says are like a kintsugi vase, or the ones he can buy a quack cream for. 

Tim doesn’t go in for any of those childish similes, just likes putting his mouth on them. Like a roadmap, maybe, likes having a specific place to hit. It’s better to just call it what it is, really, isn’t it? They’re not poetry, Martin knows, he’ll never be able to make them work in verse. They're just all the places he’s ever gained so much extra weight he’s hurt and scarred his skin. Permanently. Places he’s failed. 

Tim hasn’t heard that one yet (probably won’t because it’s awful enough Martin can see the face he’d make) but he points out he has some too. White lightning over his hips. He’d been a chubby kid, he says, shrugging, put on a freshers five and used to drink too much. 

But he’s flat there now and hard, pelvis sticking out above his jeans like it does in the magazines. The way you always think, that those who try to help say, no one looks like that in real life. But Tim does. Because he went to the gym and still does. Because he put effort in and succeeded. He is the after picture - that muffin-topped teenager in jean shorts next to his brother in the photo he shows Martin is the thing that needed fixing. And Martin has much more in common with him, really. 

Not that he ever wears shorts at the moment. Can’t to the office, not least because Jon would have something to say about -

Tim nips at the inside of his thigh and he yelps a bit, looking back down. 

Tim kisses the same spot in apology. ‘You with me?’

He means here in the room, not are you with someone else. He's far too nice when he might easily be jealous. He is, must be, Martin knows. Jealous. He's not asking too much to have undivided attention in this.

‘Yeah,’ Martin promises him, ‘sorry.’

He really is. He should be able to tune it all out when he has someone this gorgeous this willing to be with him and do anything for him. And here he is thinking about everything wrong with him and Jon again and -

Tim sighs and sits up on his elbows. ‘What can I do that’s going to make you stop thinking?’ 

Martin balks a bit but it comes out as a laugh. ‘Oh that’s the challenge is it?’ 

Tim takes Martin’s hand away from his cheek and kisses his palm. He’s smiling but not his grinning one - his tender one that means he means it. ‘Very much so.’ 

Alright then. Fine. He means it. Not thinking sounds great right about now, and after the month or so they’ve been having Martin has no doubts about Tim’s abilities and dogged determinism to get him there. He only thinks about it for a second - what he wants, what they’ve got to play with. He’s gotten pretty familiar with Tim’s collection recently. Then he smiles, letting his teeth dent his bottom lip as he does so because he knows how well it works. 

‘Top drawer.’ 

Tim’s face breaks into sunshine then. ‘Oh, okay. Okay, I see how it is.’

‘Mmhm.’ 

‘Mmhmm.’ 

Tim crawls back up and leans over to pull the drawer out. Martin kisses the bit of chin and cheek he can reach above him. 

‘Thank you,’ he says whilst Tim rummages for the vibrator that’s migrated from under the bed for easy access. ‘For listening. And trying, I know I’m a basket case-’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Tim grins, shutting the drawer and pushing his hand and the vibrator down. ‘Spread ‘em, sweetheart.’

Martin snorts a laugh at this, even as he does so. ‘Oh bossy today, I see how it is.’

‘Someone has to be,’ Tim grumbles through another kiss. 

‘So good of you.’

Tim hums, flicking the vibrator into life. ‘That’s more like it.’ He’s still teasing, always is a bit, but now he’s picking on his own desires. ‘Can I stay up here or you want something else as well?’

Martin sighs, settling down into the low first rhythm of buzzing. ‘Mmm, this is good.’

‘Stay here?’

‘Stay here.’ 

‘And my other hand?’ 

It hovers questioningly. Martin considers for just a moment before taking it and laying it down on his chest. Tim hums a happy sound and gets himself adjusted. 

‘This is gonna be good,’ he promises, and his kiss is as determined as his face. It’s probably not what he’s after but Martin can’t help thinking he’s sweet. So sweet, such a sweetheart, and _very_ good with his tongue. 

‘I believe you,’ he grins when Tim breaks the kiss, moving to his jaw. He’s rewarded with a teasing lick (‘ew, Tim!’) and the next setting of pulses (‘ahh, God, Tim, ohh-kay...’).

His sighs and moans start off small, always quiet (Tim’s walls are basically paper, not that they’ll worry too much in a minute). But he can feel Tim’s mouth pulling into a smile, knows he’s listening as he nips wet and toothy kisses at the base of Martin's throat. 

‘Love your neck,’ he murmurs there as Martin stretches back into the pillow. ‘Beautiful. So hot when you do that, God.’ His mouth travels up the arch of it and Martin feels the flick of his tongue as he wets his lips. ‘Let me mark you up? Please?’

‘Yeah,’ Martin breathes, as it’s Friday. ‘Yeah, go ah-’ the rest is sucked in through his teeth as Tim does the same, hard under his chin. 

He carries on like this for what feels like ages, working his way down Martin's neck and up through the settings of the vibrator. He keeps it low, the tip of it sitting just under where it needs to be so the buzzing is a second-hand kind of pleasure. It starts off kind of nice, low-stakes, massaging. But turns to teasing the higher he climbs through the pulsing patterns. By the time he’s got his teeth on the softer skin under Martin's collarbone, started stroking his thumb gently round a hardening nipple, he’s reached the fastest pulse setting and it's almost agonising. 

‘That good?’ He asks, thumb circling. 

‘Yeah...’ Martin manages on a short exhale. Getting shorter. 

He should have known that wouldn’t be enough. ‘Tell me,’ Tim urges him, begs him. 

‘Feels so good,’ he answers through shaky panting, ‘fuck I’m so close-’ he breaks off. A whimper escapes where he’s holding back something louder. 

Tim groans, freeing his mouth so the sound travels through the room. He brings his thumb to his wet lips and sucks on it with a pop that’s just as loud. It’s cool and slick when he gets it back under Martin’s shirt. He doesn’t have to wrestle much fabric - has it shoved it right up now. 

‘Yeah,’ he breathes, his voice gravelled with arousal. ‘Who did that for you?’ he asks. It nearly sounds like a growl and _Jesus if that isn’t hot_. ‘I treat you right, don't I? Huh?’ 

Martin doesn’t have a chance to bite down the moan that comes out then, that cracks as he feels wet gushing over the silicone. Maybe it’s a bit more possessive than they’ve done before, but honestly if this is how the jealousy Tim’s naturally got to feel a _bit_ is going to manifest, then Martin’s not going to complain. It’s not wrong after all. He does. _He_ does, and he makes it feel like it’s an honour the way he watches, gropes, kisses and puts every bit of himself to use.

‘You do,’ Martin swears though his voice is shaking, he’s shaking all over. ‘Shit, shit-’ (he grapples with the sheets as they slip from his sweating fingers) _‘shit_ , Tim, you make me feel so good, you, ah-’

‘Yeah I do, don’t I? Cos you’re so gorgeous, God-’

Tim’s spare hand is getting desperate, grabbing at the rolls below his chest, the plush around his hips. Fingers gripping into flesh like he’s seen on statues, his thumb still spreading. His kisses are hard, crushing and fervent against Martin’s shivering.

‘Tell me how good I fuck you and I’ll make you come for me.’ 

Martin grabs at him wildly, his neck thrown back enough to snap in a choked gasp. He’s past the point of managing really, but tries his best to be as good with words as Tim is so he can bloody _finish_ already. ‘So good to me,’ he promises the ceiling, feeling Tim’s hair against his neck. He tries arching into the rhythm of the buzzing and trying to make that enough. It nearly is. ‘So hard for you, Christ, I’m gonna-’

Tim moves the tip of the vibe downwards, pressing firmly into the wet and groaning at the sound. Martin groans with him and the sudden lack of just enough stimulation to get him there. His fingers bite into Tim's shoulder and Tim hums, pressing kisses down the centre of his chest. 

‘Sounds so hot, fucking love watching you get worked up.’ 

‘Tim-’ he whines through gritted teeth, unable to quite form _get on with it you prick-tease bastard._

‘Yeah, I know,’ Tim murmurs apologetically, ‘you don’t want that do you?’ 

He sucks hard and Martin's other hand twists tight into the sheet. He bites into his lip as Tim begins to rock the vibe slowly upwards. 

‘Want this right on your perfect aching cock don’t you?’

‘Please,’ he hears whine breathlessly out of his mouth.

It’s not really what he asked for but luckily Tim is anything but cruel and has never in his life resisted being asked so nicely. He sucks Martin's nipple into his mouth and tongues over it. Slips his other hand down and spreads his knuckles over the folds, giving him perfect access as he pushes the vibrator up to its highest setting. 

Martin nearly screams, grabs a fistful of Tim’s hair to hold himself together.

There’s instant relief at the fact that he’s finally fucking getting it and his whole body rolls from his neck down to that now steady brutal buzzing. Then it’s _so much,_ so intense his feet come off the bed. His ears are burning, his whole head is hot, so hot and shuddering with pressure he thinks it might explode. This is too much, too much and his gritted teeth are juddering together and-

Then it’s fine. Then it’s incredible. Colours screech across his screwed up eyelids and he comes hard enough to know it. Definitive. A proper one, enough to make his brain dissolve into a puddle of mushy peachy satisfaction. And the sheets are definitely wet. 

He is coming down from it clearly, still now, head in the clouds flat on the pillow, but Tim dutifully doesn’t move until he says ‘wait a second.’ Even then he doesn’t flick the vibrator off, just settles back to an idle setting and holds it off to one side. 

‘You good?’ he asks, cautiously pleased with himself. 

Martin loses his grip on Tim’s hair and gives it a stroke as he gets his breath back. ‘Yeah,’ he starts, ‘I’m, oh-’ what he thought was an aftershock turns into something more that makes him gasp. 

Tim pushes his hip back down with a smug grin. ‘We’re not done.’ 

‘We’re not?’

Tim laughs a little at his tone but doesn’t let up. Goes back to gently kissing his chest. ‘You wanna go again?’ He asks, ‘I said I want your head _empty.’_

‘Oh okay,’ Martin laughs. 

It’s not particularly often Tim goes in for demanding things, at least not this way round, and as much as he wears it _very_ well, there’s that element of him that he never takes seriously and it never fails to make Martin laugh. 

‘Okay-’ he says again but his giggle turns to a gasp the moment Tim drags the vibrator back over.

He doesn’t mess around this time; keeps it on a sensible, steady pulsing. An in-between setting really, and one that Martin probably wouldn’t make time for on his own. But it works like this - held solidly in place where he’s already so sensitive, still throbbing from last time, with no movement and no sign of relenting. Just pressure and the steady pulsing and Tim's mouth, tongue, teeth over his sternum and then his stomach. He could be persuaded to change his mind on it.

It’s not quite enough, which is frustrating, but makes his hips chase after it without thought. Makes him desperate, breathing rising back to panting, which only makes it better, gets him closer. 

Tim doesn’t hold his hips down but he does press in harder, murmuring something round his kisses that feels like a wet _god, oh my god._

Martin slides a hand back into his hair, clutches at his scalp with sweaty fingers in time to the constant pulsing. Constant, and he’s flitting and quivering on the edge between _too much_ and _don’t stop_ , _too much_ and _more_ , _too much_ and _please_. 

‘Please,’ he whispers again, with no idea really what he’s asking for but it seemed to work last time. The next pulse drives and buzzes through his whole body and he nearly knees Tim in the chest. ‘Please, fuck,’ he feels choke from his dry mouth, so quietly, over and over as his shakes turn into full on jerks. 

He comes silently first. The broken whines turning to a long and silent scream turned sideways into the pillow. He can’t bring himself to care that he’s pulling Tim’s hair probably a bit too hard and doesn’t let go. Still doesn’t as his stomach lurches, something jumping up in his chest and coming out as a croak as he comes again and feels it coating Tim's hand. Which still doesn’t move, doesn’t let up until he actually shouts. A rough yell over the sound of his palm smacking the mattress, his thigh, the scratch of his nails on Tim's shoulder. 

The little moan he makes between trembling as he eventually pushes Tim's hand away, after what must have been minutes, is very quiet by comparison. 

What feels like every ounce of energy he’s ever had drops out of him into the mattress as he falls back, spent, onto the pillow. His hand slides out of Tim's hair and hits the mattress with a thud. 

He’s barely panted halfway back to normal before he’s being peppered all over his neck and jaw with kisses.

‘Christ,’ he laughs, breath robbed of him with more round his chin and the corner of his lips, ‘can I _breathe_?’ 

‘No,’ Tim says smugly, pecking his cheeks, nose, eyebrows, forehead. ‘Too sexy.’ 

‘I’m _too sexy to breathe?_ ’

‘Yes,’ Tim grins before planting one squarely on his mouth and forcing the air to draw sharply through his nose. Somehow it's possible to laugh through there too through all this. 

After that it’s Tim's turn, and the minute or so it takes Martin to calm down and swallow most of a glass of water is enough for him to flop back onto the pillow and out of any demanding shade of dominance he was maintaining. He groans from the first touch, eyes fluttering shut for the first time since they started. And he looks beautiful - his chest heaving and shining with sweat already, stomach fluttering against Martin's arm where he’s pressing Tim's hips back down. He whines when Martin tells him this, and it doesn’t take long, worked up as he is, once Martin takes him into his mouth. 

Another time Martin might tease a bit. Try and get his own back, return the favour by pulling off with a trail of spit to murmur _you taste so good, feel so hot on my tongue._ But he’s not mean either, just grateful, and the fact Tim's already grabby and shaky just from making him come makes his chest _so_ warm. He strokes the back of Tim’s thigh gently, squeezing every so often so he doesn’t cramp whilst he tongues sweetly up the length of his cock. Tim’s moan cracks and shakes along with his legs and needy fingers when he comes down Martin's throat. And that might be the best compliment of the night. 

After some more kisses, and the rest of the water, it somehow ends up being Martin's turn again, since Tim apparently can’t keep his hands off. He’s still half on top of Tim, still has his tongue in his mouth and moans softly around it when Tim’s finger slips down and finds he’s still wet. It only takes Tim holding it there a moment, gently pressing, stroking, through more slow kisses before he’s shuddering quietly one last time. 

After that it’s the shower to get off this sweat, then they work some of it back up stripping the bed. Not nearly as much as either would have done alone, though. It’s easy enough to tuck in opposite corners of the fresh double sheet when they can do it at the same time. Tim says he wouldn’t normally bother since it’s such a faff, but he refuses to make his guest sleep in the wet patch. Martin says he’s not _that_ picky, not trying to put out his host. He just wants this nice thing for them both. 

‘Can I tell you something?’ Tim asks when they’re showered and cuddled up in clean sheets and breathing slowly, close, with the lights off. 

His words ghost warm over Martin’s half heavy eyelids, fluttering them open. ‘Course,’ he promises, brows furrowing a bit in concern. Completely sincere, he adds ‘you can tell me anything.’

Tim nods a bit against the pillow. His socked toes stroke up and down Martin’s foot as he thinks this over. Eventually he clicks his tongue and inhales before he breathes out a sure start.

‘I go to the gym every day because it calms me down,’ he says. ‘I’m... I’m no good at sitting still all day, you know. It makes me really anxious.’

‘Okay...’ Martin says slowly, unsure why he’s being told this. 

Tim sighs, seemingly realising he isn’t being clear enough, and swallows. ‘I had, um. I had a...’ - he searches for a moment and eventually gives up, settling for - ‘Bad. Experience. A few years ago, where I just... froze. I froze and it was... really bad because of it. So, not feeling like I’m doing anything is kind of, I don’t know, triggering? For me? It’s not good for me anyway. That’s why I need to do follow up and go out and go to the gym and stuff, I can’t just. Not be moving.’ 

‘Oh. Okay.’ 

‘I’m just. I’m just telling you so you don’t think I’m this like... perfect, busy, gym rat who just wants abs for the sake of it - you know? And I don’t want you to feel like... you’re a burden? Or something? For talking about it. Like,’ he huffs an amused sort of sound, ‘you’re not the only one with issues, is all I’m saying.’

‘Oh,’ Martin says again, this time heavier as he gets it. 

Gets that Tim is giving him secrets, a bit of himself that’s soft and easy to hurt so that _he_ feels a bit less self-conscious. As sweet as it is, as he is, his eyes not entirely as full and steady in their gaze as they normally are, there is a tiny part of Martin that’s a bit resentful for a second. That his issues don't have him going to the gym every day and looking like that, instead of staying home moping and crying and eating and watching Dave reruns. 

But he pushes that aside because it's ridiculous and petty and bitter and self absorbed which he never wants to be with Tim. He wants to be generous and trust worthy, and to make him know the whole story would be safe if he spoke it here. So instead he cradles Tims head into his neck with a soft clucking and a sigh and a kiss on his forehead. 

‘Thank you,’ he murmurs, meaning it. 

‘S’alright,’ he feels Tim whisper as he snuggles down the bed a bit and settles into cuddling proper. 

‘You know you can talk to me, yeah?’ He promises, not just because he’s meant to say it but because he wants to hear it, wants to help. ‘About it all.’

He thinks about Tim pacing round the office looking for something to do that isn’t reading about another dead end, about the glee that now looks more like relief on his face when he jumps at the chance to go chase down a monster or someone’s bill instead. Maybe he doesn’t relate to the gym exactly but he hates feeling powerless too. And God knows he understands feeling anxious at work. That feeling is familiar enough for him to be mostly numb to it, but thinking about Tim feeling like that even as he keeps the others spirits up is heartbreaking.

He strokes Tim's hair and wishes he knew the full story so he might be able to help better. Fix it. He probably can’t, though, and the idea of just giving his hand a squeeze when his leg starts bouncing feels like a start. it wouldn't be the first of his workplace fantasies that involves holding a stressed colleague until they melt into him and love him back for it. 

‘If- whenever you feel like that. At work or... Anytime.’ 

Tim hums, nuzzling in closer and throwing an arm round Martin’s waist. ‘Thanks.’ 

There is a whole lot to think about in this situation. Here in the dark before he drifts off, Martin could hypothesise about what on earth terrible thing could have happened to make this chiseled man in his arms so vulnerable. He could feel guilty that he took up all that time worrying about anything except Tim, that he didn’t ask, that he made it about himself. He could drift with that thought until the current of his own selfish issues takes him under. Maybe even stew a bit in the awfulness of the fact that as comfy as Tim’s weight on his chest is, he still sort of stupidly just a bit fancies his boss.

But actually, he doesn’t. It’s warm here, and four (five?) orgasms’ worth of endorphins, plus the thrilling contentment of a hot shower with a man who thinks he’s as beautiful in that harsh light as he is in here in the dark has made him sleepy in the best way. Happy sleepy. 

Something about the catharsis means questions don’t seem urgent. He strokes Tim's hair and lets Tim stroke his side under his T-shirt and wonders absently what they’ll have for breakfast because there’s only ends left in the bread bin. Eggs, maybe. Tim kisses the bit of shoulder he’s leaning into and the thought is gone again. 

In their bundle in Tim's bed his head actually is mostly empty. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading ! 
> 
> this was done as a commission :)) im currently taking commissions as a way to supplement my income doing something i love to do. you can find my post w prices n details [here](https://babyyodablackwood.tumblr.com/post/630528010471211008/ao3-fic-commissions-kofi-i-am-offering-proof) ! 
> 
> i predictably went over the word count on this commission (as i always do oops!) so if you are feeling generous and would like to support me writing more then you can also find my kofi link above ^^ 
> 
> pls leave a commentë if u enjoyed uwu


End file.
